“Sorry birdie, you are not allowed to fly. Here, let’s clip those wings of yours.” Imagine a bird’s reaction to something like that. An ostrich might not care much, but what about the others?

Or if you told a lion, that he is not allowed to roar. Or imagine forcing the wind to not blow. Or telling a river to not flow. Or scolding a new-born for crying when it’s hungry. ‘Finger-wagging’ and all. What about, caging an elephant in a cell that just about allows him to move an inch either side?

My point is, who in this world likes to be a captive? Who in this world enjoys doing something against their free will? Who becomes a prisoner by choice? I certainly have not met anybody like that to date.

Gather all the dense clouds in the world. Pile them in layers and try and prevent the sun from shining through. You might get short-lived success, but in the end, the sun will succeed in doing what it’s meant to do. Shine.

I recall an incident many years ago. I would have been 16, I think. I was in the ‘unreserved’ compartment of a train on a four-hour journey from Vapi to Vadodara, my hometown. With no company, I did what even then I loved doing most. I sang for four hours straight until I reached home. At first in the din in the compartment, with babies screaming, mothers gossiping, livestock blaring (oh yeah!), farmers haggling and ten people sharing a seat, I was safe to sing to myself without anyone complaining. But by the end of the journey I had at least four to five listeners sharing my passion for Mohd Rafi and Kishore Da. When I got off the train at Vadodara, I felt liberated. A free man who had been given permission to let his soul soar into the skies of music.

A rare permission indeed. For even then I would hear this statement quite often. “Please don’t sing on the road, because that is embarrassing!” Sometimes I would duly shut up, but the urge to sing, the need to express myself with freedom would be overpowering.

Luckily, there were others who shared my crazy, unrestrained passion to sing. I remember sitting on two-wheelers with my friends and singing with abandon all along the streets of Vadodara, with not a care in the world. Priceless moments, whose value simply cannot be measured in any currency.

In India, there was a phase when we would have a half-hour scheduled power cut every day in the night. Neighbouring families would get together and together we would all sing film songs until the lights came back and life would take over once again.

Many years later, in the corporate world, how was I meant to control myself for 10 hours? Over the years, I have done a remarkable job of not breaking into song during presentations and the bazillion meetings I have been in. But find me an empty elevator and even if there are only a few floors to go there is always enough time to sing just the one line! My timing was immaculate – I had mastered the art of stopping my song just before the doors of the lift would open.

Mr. Life with all his peculiarities can be quite a prison guard, tying you down to your responsibilities and shackling you to the various demands of our careers, relationships etc. But when those moments come to express yourself, grab it with both hands.

Now, I have written a lot, and haven’t sung a line all day so far. Time to find a quiet corner and get those vocal chords going, I say! :)

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